Spin
by lone astronomer
Summary: The Date was everything except what Cameron expected. HouseCameron, follows Crush, Bad Ideas and House of Cards.


Spin

Thanks go to Yahoo Maps for the travel times/distances, everyone who's commented for encouragement, etc.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.

Summary: The Date is everything except what Cameron expected.

Notes: Follows Crush, Bad Ideas and House of Cards.

Comment. It makes my life happy.

h

The dress still fit, which shouldn't have surprised her. She probably weighed less now than she had in college; she worked twice as hard and had half as much time to eat. It was black, satin and backless, with a low neckline and a slit on the right side that went most of the way up her thigh. She was lucky that the ugly stitching for the stab wound was on the other leg.

Even though she was wearing it with flat sandals and a cane, House was going to drop dead. He'd never so much as seen her in a skirt.

Which begged the question- exactly how uncomfortable did she want to make him? Was it possible to try too hard in a last-ditch effort? Because while she definitely wanted his attention, she _didn't_ want to send him running. Assuming he even showed up, of course. For all she knew he was out with his ex-girlfriend or down the street at the bar getting hammered.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. House wouldn't do that to her. She was just nervous.

Who knew that dating your boss could be such a hassle?

A knock at the door interrupted her musings, and she bit her lip as she braced herself to answer it. Probably House was standing there in blue jeans and a T-shirt, ready to mock the obvious effort she'd gone to in making herself presentable.

She opened the door, fully expecting to see House, Doctor and Bum. She was completely unprepared to get an eyeful of Greg the Ridiculously Sexy GQ Model with Black Suit and Obviously Phallic Cane.

Cameron hoped desperately that she wasn't drooling. She knew she couldn't help the fact that she was _staring_. She opened her mouth to say something mundane - _hello, come in, how are you?_ - but what came out was, "You don't even own a tie, do you?"

She resisted the urge to clap a hand over her mouth in mortification when he smiled. "Wilson offered to let me borrow one, but-"

Cameron shuddered. Wilson's ties were almost universally horrible. "Yeah, forget I said anything. You look good."

"I had Cuddy do my makeup," he quipped. "Got a coat? Good, let's go."

h

Allison knew better by now than to ask where they were going, House was pleased to discover. She merely rolled her eyes at his avoidance of her compliment, snatched her coat from the chair near the door, and limped to the elevator with him.

He hadn't bothered returning her compliment, which he only felt a little bit guilty about. She was an intelligent woman; she knew she was gorgeous. He'd told her as much on an occasion where she hadn't even been dressed up. She'd told him as much-

__

Because I'm a woman. Because I'm pretty. Because I'm not aggressive.

And he really wished he hadn't thought of that just now because-

__

Do you?

Everybody lies.

If this trend continued, it was going to be a long and extremely awkward night.

There was a pizza boy waiting when they got down to the lobby, the perfect stereotype: red jacket, green baseball cap, pimple-faced. If he spoke, House was pretty sure it'd be in a squeak. Especially given the way he was looking at Cameron.

House scowled at him. The kid ducked his head and scampered. Huh. Apparently the cane was intimidating. Who knew?

He heard a disturbing growling noise as they passed through the space Pizza Boy had vacated, and he had to turn around, amused. "Hungry?"

Cameron gave him a sheepish smile. "Starving; when's dinner?"

He ignored the question. "I had no idea your body was even capable of remotely unladylike noises." Held the door.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

__

Oh. Smooth. He had to hand it to her, it was a good line and a better delivery, looking up at him slyly from under dark lashes, a slight pout to her lips. Forced him to try to reconcile the girl in front of him- wearing a dress probably personally endorsed by Satan and House wasn't even going to let himself consider what she was wearing _under_ it (at least not until much later)- with the Allison that lived in his brain, who was currently polishing her halo.

Still, he couldn't let her think she'd got him. He wasn't looking for a relationship. She was looking, but in all the wrong places. Cameron belonged with someone with less emotional baggage, like- well, actually, he couldn't think of anyone without baggage off the top of his head; Chase was out and Wilson's third divorce was just about finalized and Foreman was probably abandoned at birth or something. Anyway, he liked being alone. Just because he occasionally tolerated her company didn't mean he wanted it all the time.

"That's true. I don't know what colour your panties are."

And he could tell the minute the words were out of his mouth that _that _was going to get him into trouble. So much for not thinking about her lingerie.

Cameron didn't even give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes. She just looked up at him angelically in Satan's own dress, lowered herself into the passenger seat of the '65 Corvette (God, he was going to have some kind of dreams tonight) and said, "Guess."

Shit.

"Are you like this on every date?"

"Considering this is the first one I've been on since I finished med school, it's probably safe to say 'yes.'"

That was intriguing. He wished she were this confident at work. But this was a Date, and as Cameron had calmly informed him that morning, work topics were Strictly Off Limits. On pain of having to take her on another date to make up for it. Which he definitely didn't want to do, oh no. His life was disorganized enough as it was. "Good. Me too."

He sensed her watching him as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the highway. She was going to say something profound. He could feel it in his leg.

"I didn't expect anything else."

Hmm. He wondered if he should feel chastised or bewildered- either Cameron had very little hope or very low expectations and somehow neither bothered her. The idea made him a little uncomfortable. "Out of curiosity, how hungry are you?"

He heard her stomach grumble again and got into the exit lane. "Not quite in danger of a diabetic coma, but it's a close thing."

House nodded. "We'll have dessert before dinner. Don't tell Wilson. He's watching my weight."

h

'Dessert' was McDonald's soft-serve ice cream- a sundae for House and a cone for Cameron. They ate on a picnic table set behind the horrible yellow M (House refused to allow ice cream in the car on account of the leather upholstery) and everything was pretty quiet until he felt the urge to ask-

"How's the leg?"

Cameron shrugged, licking the ice cream that was dripping down the side of the cone sinfully. House concentrated hard on his sundae. "Not bad. Not great. It doesn't usually bother me until after work, when I'm not busy."

"And the rest?" He was referring to the stitches, the possible infection, coping with the damage to her reproductive system- everything, really. But going into such detail probably counted as talking about work, which was a no-no.

He couldn't resist looking at her when she didn't answer right away. It turned out that was because she was getting the ice cream from her lip with the tip of her tongue. _Stop staring_. "Functions. As long as I don't move too far too fast, I'm fine. No jumping jacks yet, though."

House was starting to wonder if she was throwing in images like that on purpose, so he ignored it and finished the rest of his sundae. "You ready? It's a long drive to Atlantic City."

She nearly choked on her last bite of ice cream cone. "You're taking me to _Atlantic City_ for dinner?"

Her reaction was worth every bit of secrecy- he hadn't even told Wilson where they were going. "I know a place," he said, winking. "Come on, I want to see how fast we can get there with three hundred seventy-five horsepower."

h

"I'm guessing the stereo's not original," she commented when they got back into the car, and without bothering to ask him, started going through his CD collection.

"I couldn't deal with it," he admitted. "Original rims, original body, original _engine_- probably a miracle it still runs- it's a shame, but I couldn't listen to the crap they play on the radio."

Cameron nodded, noting familiar artists as she passed them. John Henry Giles, The Who, Bach, James Taylor, Aerosmith, Sinatra, Billy Joel, The Police. "You certainly have eclectic taste." Not that that was particularly surprising. Then she found something that _was_. In the back of the black leather book, looking like it hadn't been out of the case in years, was Robert Palmer: His Very Best. "I don't believe it," she mumbled, not sure if she were talking to House or to herself. The shadow of a grin crossed her face. "You _do_ have a sense of humor."

House made a face at her. "I did, once. Wait, what are you doing?"

"Precluding the possibility of…" she glanced over his shoulder at the speedometer, "an hour and a quarter of uncomfortable silence. Besides, I love this CD. I had to buy a new copy."

"Please tell me _Doctor, Doctor _is not your favourite song."

She laughed self-deprecatingly, skipping ahead a few tracks. That one was just a little too close to home, and it was hard to tell what he meant from his tone. "When I was in college, yeah. I grew out of it."

__

Johnny thinks the world would be right  
If it could buy truth from him.  
Mary says he changes his mind more than a woman,  
But she made her bed,  
Even when the chance was slim.

Cameron wondered vaguely if House knew the implications of the phrase 'going to Atlantic City' to the younger generation of Princeton residents. People went there for a weekend of sex and binge drinking, or binge sex and drinking, depending on the personal preferences of the travelers. "Which one's your favourite?"

He looked at her curiously. "What?"

"Song," she replied, gesturing to the stereo. "You bought the CD for a reason."

He was making his 'uncomfortable' face. "Wilson gave it to me for my birthday a couple years ago."

Cameron was getting _don't want to talk about it_ vibes and thought: Stacy. Fantastic. She stopped pushing. _And he calls me damaged_. "Mine's _Johnny and Mary_," she said, hoping to take the edge off of the silence. Looking at him turned out to be a bad idea- eyes ahead, expression unreadable, maybe even grim- so she turned her head to look out the window as New Jersey passed them by.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hmm. That was an interesting comment. Cameron mentally reviewed the track listing in her mind. _Doctor Doctor _was too obvious. If she was going to be surprised, it wasn't something maudlin. _Sweet Lies_ was ruled out by the same token. There was no chance she'd suggest _Addicted to Love_- that was leaving herself open for way too many snide remarks.

She was pretty sure he wasn't going to tell her if she guessed, anyway. "So what's in Atlantic City?"

House affected a mysterious expression. "Sex, booze, and rock and roll. Well, two of the three, anyway."

"Do I get to choose which two?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Bad news, flirting with your boss. Especially when you meant it. Especially when he was damaged. Especially when you were _both_ damaged- and it was worse yet when you knew damn well that he was a flirt, too.

"That probably depends on how much booze is involved."

Nice. Well, clearly he wasn't in the mood for civil conversation at the moment. Cameron turned up the volume. She'd try again later.

Maybe.

h

She turned the volume up and went back to looking at the passing scenery.

Shit.

House sighed, resisting the urge to pop a Vicodin or bang his head on the steering wheel. He knew he was an emotionally constipated idiot; they both did. He knew Cameron was over-sensitive at times- that was no secret, either. It was still frustrating to be misinterpreted.

Especially when he couldn't apologize for something because he hadn't done anything wrong. And, realistically, he usually made things worse before better. House turned the music down again. "It was a joke, Cameron."

"It's fine. Forget about it. I was being ridiculous."

Well, _yes_, but he had the feeling that agreeing with her wasn't going to get him anywhere. Fucking cocksucker sonofabitch. Not like he cared if she was hurt, no, of course not. But the night was far from over and would be far more pleasant if they were actually on cordial speaking terms.

His fingers were trying to asphyxiate the steering wheel. He wished he were better at lying to himself. _Say something_. "_Simply Irresistible_."

Shit shit shit shit shit. That was definitely _not_ what he had meant to say at all.

Cameron was looking at him with curious and confused doe eyes. Then, incredulity. When she spoke again, her words had a hint of laughter in them. "You're right. I never would have guessed."

He gave what he thought was probably a pretty successful approximation of a glower to cover his relief over her implied forgiveness. "You tell a soul…"

"What, you'll never take me out again?" She grinned up at him mischievously. "I don't know, let me weigh my options, here. The pleasure of your company versus the chance to humiliate you in front of the whole hospital. This had better be a pretty good date, House."

He was pretty sure she wouldn't rat him out. They were five minutes from the turn off to Atlantic City and twenty minutes from their final destination.

Against his better judgment, he was pretty excited. This could be dangerous.

h

When House pulled up in front of the Tropicana Hotel and Casino, Cameron was more than a little surprised. "You're taking me _gambling_?"

He smirked. "I really thought you had a better imagination than that. Don't you know what people _do_ in Atlantic City?"

Ah. So he _did_ know about the connotations attached to the phrase. "I find it difficult to believe that you drove all the way to Atlantic City to get laid." She left the rest of that sentence unsaid.

"Well, at least you've got some sense." House put the car in park got out, handing the keys to the valet.

She allowed herself a tiny victory smile when he opened the door for her. "So why are we really here?" Her leg complained a bit, stiff, when she stood, but she figured it was probably walk-offable.

By way of an answer, House pointed to a sign in front of the casino's amphitheater.

Cameron's knees instantly turned to jelly. "Oh my God."

"Dinner first," he said. "Soul-bearing music later."

"But." She was still staring at the sign. She was suddenly not hungry. Or thirsty. Or anything except in need of an immediate outlet for the rush of emotions flooding through her. "_Sting_!"

She didn't see his lips twitch into something approaching a smile. "Will still be there after I feed you. Come on, can't have you passing out from hunger, and I know you have to take your medication with food."

Once she tore her eyes away from the words on the sign, it was easier to think. She leaned a bit more heavily on the cane, suddenly bizarrely aware that it had been a gift from House, and met his gaze. Her knees were still weak, but she figured the shock had pretty much worn off. "Right. Lead the way."

h

"That was," she said, gesturing wildly with her free hand and searching furiously for the proper word to describe it. "That was just…"

"Yeah," House agreed, opting not to mock her lack of descriptive speech ability because the last notes of _Every Little Thing She Does_ were still echoing in his ears. His leg throbbed as they merged into the crowd of people leaving the concert. "I know what you mean."

When he'd hired her, he hadn't expected her to put up with him for long. Just until he solved her puzzle, really. He hadn't counted on her being a nice person. He hadn't counted on looking forward to going to work every day. Hehadn't counted on her actually liking him.

But most of all he hadn't counted on enjoying himself when he was with her, and that was the most dangerous thing of all. He probably should have seen it coming before he even hired her, but now he was stuck.

Cameron, it turned out, worshipped Sting as music god supreme. He made her cheeks flush and her eyes sparkle, made her heart pound almost loud enough for House to hear it. For six years House had been sure he was incapable of that kind of physiological response to anything except monster trucks. Now that he knew there was something else that could prompt it, he was in worse trouble than before.

If life had taught House anything, it was that almost anything that made you happy could be taken away from you. He was pretty sure that monster trucks and soap operas would be around forever in some capacity or another, but Allison Cameron was mortal, fallible and beautiful. With that combination, any number of things could take her away from him, number one on the suspect list being Ed Vogler.

It was too late to prevent any personal attachment, but maybe he could keep that attachment at a platonic level. Maybe Cameron could become like a female Wilson, someone he joked with, relaxed with, ate Chinese food with. Someone who went home to someone else at the end of the day.

Maybe pigs would fly.

Cameron poked her head around the corner and into one of the gambling rooms as they followed the flow of the crowd, and House reminded himself sharply that he was supposed to be having a good time. "Open your hand," he said after a short period of deliberation.

She stopped walking and raised an eyebrow, but did as she was told. House deposited a handful of chips into her hand. "Came with the tickets," he explained, gesturing towards the Blackjack tables behind her. "You feeling lucky?"

"I don't know how to play."

"Not what I asked."

Cameron smiled. "Lucky is my middle name."

h

Somewhere, somewhere far too far away for her to want to worry about it, a phone was ringing. Loudly. Cursing mentally, Cameron rolled out of bed in search of it, vaguely aware that she was wearing an oversized T-shirt she didn't remember owning. Her leg throbbed gently.

She had to navigate by sound; her eyes weren't ready to focus and her head was pounding. Finally, she discovered the offending device under a blanket on the floor. She squinted at the number, but couldn't make it out, so she flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

She knew she was screwed the minute she heard the voice on the other end, because it reminded her that this was not her phone. "_Cameron_?"

Fuck. "Wilson. God- who calls this early in the morning?" She stifled a yawn.

"It's eleven o'clock," was his surprised reply.

Allison squinted at the clock; he was right. "Five hours of sleep is just not enough anymore."

"Five hours-? Listen, Cameron, do you know where Greg is? I've been trying to reach him all morning. Did he leave his phone at your place or something?"

"Umm." This was going to get messy very quickly. She fumbled for her glasses on the ornate bedside table and put them on, finally noticing the light coming from beneath the bathroom door and the sound of running water. Oh. House, wet and naked. Just what she needed to wake her up in the morning. God, her head hurt. "_Greg_ is in the shower."

There was dead silence on the line for five seconds. Allison bit her thumb to keep from squeaking out some ridiculous excuse or apology. She was pretty sure she was still drunk. "In the shower. Am I to assume you kept _him_ up until six in the morning, too? And why didn't you answer your phone?"

More trouble. Where were they again? Oh yeah. "House kept _himself_ up until six in the morning. He could have quit earlier, but we figured we'd run with the winning streak. And I'm not at home, either."

"Cameron, where _are_ you?"

She cringed, holding the phone away from her head in anticipation of the explosion. "Atlantic City."

"_What_!"

"House got tickets to a Sting concert at the casino. He didn't tell you where we were going?" That was interesting. She'd been under the impression that House told Wilson everything.

"I didn't know you were a Sting fan. Anyway, I'm still waiting for the rest of the story."

__

Me, too, thought Cameron, trying to sort out the haze of alcohol and adrenaline that was her memory of last night's events. "We had dinner, saw the concert and then House started playing Blackjack, and then we moved on to that thing with the Roulette wheel, and-" She stopped. _Oh, my God._

"And?"

Her answer came out in a very small voice. "I think we won six thousand dollars."

Stunned silence from Wilson.

Cameron swayed a little, feeling the last of her buzz returning, and flopped down into the armchair by the window. She swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "After tax."

Wilson cleared his throat. "And, uh, I guess you decided to celebrate?"

"What _I_ guess is that I'm still drunk." She blinked and looked down at herself. The unfamiliar T-shirt read, _I Got Lucky in Atlantic City_. Underneath that it were the words _Tropicana Casino_. And she was pretty sure she hadn't had the Swarovski crystal bracelet on her wrist for more than a few hours.

"Well. Running off to Atlantic City with your boss, winning exorbitant amounts of money, getting smashed and sleeping together. You're lucky you didn't pull a stitch. Should be a fun Monday; Cuddy will have a field day. You sure you didn't get married, too?"

"No. Ow. Wait. What?" God, she had a headache. And her leg hurt. She took a deep breath. "What are you talking about? I didn't sleep with House!"

Clearly if there was a higher power in the world, it hated her, because House chose that moment to step out of the bathroom, looking bleary-eyed and amused in that quiet, I'm-going-to-bring-this-up-later kind of way. "At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't," she amended, half-listening as Wilson went on about work and Vogler.

"What I do on the weekend is none of his goddamn business." Finally deciding she'd had enough, she snatched her cane from beside the table and handed the phone to House on her way to the bathroom. "It's your mom," she said, not covering the receiver and hoping Wilson heard her.

The nice, friendly toilet was waiting for her in the bathroom and very receptive to the contents of her stomach; said stomach seemed to be offended by the amount of alcohol she had consumed the previous evening. _Oh, I thought I'd grown out of this._ Heaving wasn't exactly the most fun for someone who'd had major surgery recently. _Ouch._

h

"Wilson, it's House. What did you say to her?"

"I told her Vogler's going to eat you for breakfast if he gets wind of this. Are you crazy?"

With some measure of difficulty, House kept a firm grip on his anger. "Aren't you the one who's always telling me I need to get out more?"

Wilson sighed. "Look, don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled you went out and had a good time and won four thousand dollars-"

"Six."

"Right. I'm just warning you that if Cuddy or Vogler-"

House sank into the chair Cameron had just vacated and rubbed his eyes. With a fresh morning perspective on things, this was all he needed. Last night he'd gone too far in having a good time and now it was all going to blow up in his face.

"…maybe you should wait until Vogler's less pissed off at you."

He grit his teeth. "Thank you so much for your helpful comments. I'll be sure to make friends again when Hell freezes over."

A pause. "Good point."

House's stomach grumbled, reminding him that it would be a good idea to get some food before the hour and a half drive home. "Well, I'd love to sit around feeling sorry for myself, but breakfast calls. Brunch maybe. See you Monday." He flipped the phone shut, looked at it for a minute, and then turned it off for good measure. If this was going to be his last chance to enjoy himself, he wasn't taking chances.


End file.
